Of Princes and Engineers
by StubblePrince
Summary: AU. Loki, a freshman in college and a prince in his mind, falls for a man who is old enough to be his father. Tony, a multi-billionaire who's lost his interest in the world, falls for a boy half his age. Both are hesitant to admit it. Chaos ensues.


Loki didn't know why he did it.

No, scratch that; that was a lie. He knew _exactly_ why he did it. What he didn't know, however, was _why he did it._

It was a bad idea from the beginning. Loki knew from experience that he hated parties. He hated the impossibly loud music and the crowds of people who didn't understand personal space. He hated all of it, much preferring to spend his time alone. He had his books, he had his laptop, and better than anything he had his own personal world.

He escaped to it quite often, especially when things went bad. It was easy to detach himself from the physical world and lose himself in his mind, in the world he'd been working on since he was six. There, he ruled. Loki saw himself as a prince, a king, a ruler of his slice of paradise. He had a crown and a throne and a kingdom to match. Sometimes, he ruled alongside his family. His father would be king, just and right, and he and his brother would be loyal and merciful princes.

Other times, he ruled alone in a kingdom just to him. His family would be mere peasants or slaves, reduced to nothing beneath him.

His world was a reflection of his mood.

Often times, when Thor would bring him along to 'socialize with us, brother!' he found himself staring off into space. In his world, conversations would be lost to him, the idle chatter of his brother and his friends nothing more than background noise. Whenever Thor or a friend brought him back to the present, his face would scrunch up into a scowl. He, quote honestly, found social gatherings of his brother's kind pointless and unbearable. Loki could not _stand_ the smell of alcohol and the overtly sexual PDA, could not learn to love the stench of sweaty human bodies.

Parties were terrible.

So why, pray, tell, did he think it was even a remotely good idea to sneak into a party? A party hosted by Tony Stark, nonetheless?

Loki and his family had been neighbors with the self-proclaimed 'billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' for a few months now. And, without fail, every month said billionaire would throw a huge party, no doubt inviting half the town. Loki would wager it was that and more.

It was during one of these monthly parties that he decided to join in. The clock had barely struck midnight, but like the boring upper-class family his household was, everyone was already asleep. Loki could tell the party was in full swing, too. It was hard to ignore, what with the constant pulsing music and the flashing lights.

Maybe slept deprivation was what caused his little act of rebellion. Maybe he just couldn't think straight that night.

Maybe he just wanted to see Tony Stark in person.

Whatever the reason, Loki didn't know, but before he could really even blink he found himself standing outside Stark's house, staring into the wild warmth of the party.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all_, Loki thought as he stepped inside. The door had been kept wide open, presumably to welcome other guests. Loki was surprised no one stopped him, as young as he looked. He pushed past a group of people clustered by the door, glaring at them in disgust.

The music was too loud. It pulsed in his head and in his feet.

Loki was practically stuck in the middle of the party, unsure of what he was looking for. Something to do? A familiar face? Tony Stark himself?

God, he was helpless at this. Socializing wasn't his thing, at least not in large groups.

Not without Thor.

His thoughts were interrupted as a waitress with barely anything on handed him a glass. He sniffed it as she left, brows creasing. _Alcohol? _he thought, swishing the amber liquid around.

He didn't drink. No one in his family did, not that he knew. Sure, his parents would have a glass of wine together now and then, and he and Thor had been given the opportunity to try it before, but…

Thoughts of his family stirred guilt into his stomach. He scowled and downed the liquid in one swallow. It burned a path from his throat to his stomach, leaving a warm feeling behind.

He decided it wasn't too bad. It burned, but it wasn't too bad. It chased away the guilt, at least.

For lack of anything better to do, he found himself wandering through the throngs of people, trying not to suffocate in the sea of bodies. He still had his glass clutched in his hand.

By fate of the gods, he figured, he found himself by the refreshment table. Loki traded his glass for a bottle of inexpensive looking beer.

It tasted just as it looked: cheap and like crap.

He didn't mind. It still burned on its way down, leaving a pit of warmth in his belly.

Nice.

Grabbing two more bottles (two too many, some part of him figured), Loki found a realtively unpopulated corner, and chugged the entirety of his first beer.

It was terrible.

It was wonderful.

Two and a half beers later found him absolutely _hammered_.

Not that it really came as a surprise. Loki had never been drunk before in his life. He figured he wouldn't even like being drunk; he'd seen how it made people act. How it loosened their tongue and muddled their minds. Not being in control of his speech and movements didn't appeal to him.

At least, it _used_ to not. Now, as he looked around, the edges of things blurred and unfocused, he thought that maybe it wasn't so bad. His head wasn't so noisy and he was warm from the inside out. Hell, the music was even starting to become appealing.

_Yes,_ he thought, standing unsteadily. He left his beers forgotten on the floor, one spilled. _This isn't so bad after all_.

Each step was shaky and heavy and he had to rely on the wall to hold him up. Loki felt like a newborn colt just learning how to walk. _This isn't so bad_, he reminded himself, smiling at a group of girls. They giggled.

It _really_ wasn't so bad when one of the girls took his hand and lead him away from his corner, toward the main part of the floor. She had pretty hair and a pretty face and a pretty smile, and Loki didn't protest when she started to dance with him.

Not that he knew how. Not this dance, anyway. Loki, by wishes of his father, could dance all the traditional ballroom dances. Waltz, tango, foxtrot, you name it. But this? He didn't know _what_ she was doing, or what he was supposed to do, but followed the best he could.

He found he didn't mind it so much, not when she started grinding on him, and especially not when she pressed her lips to his.

His mind turned to mush, and all he could focus on was the feel of her lips, how soft and pliant they were. _How silly_, a part of him mused. _My stomach is in knots over some girl._

When his stomach rumbled unpleasantly, though, he realized that it wasn't because of the girl. He staggered away, much to her displeasure, and muttered an apology before quickly leaving.

He was unsteady on his feet, and to make things worse the room spun around him. He pressed a hand to his mouth as he walked down an unfamiliar hallway. At least, now that he'd gotten away from the core of the party, the music wasn't so loud and the lights not so bright. His stomach still churned unhappily however.

Luckily for him, the first door he tried was a bathroom. Unluckily, though, a couple had already claimed it.

Loki hurriedly shut the door, making a face of disgust.

The second door yielded a more favorable result. Loki fell down to his knees before the toilet, puking up all his stomach had to offer and then some.

Suddenly, being drunk wasn't all that fun.

When his stomach no longer grumbled and his headache subsided enough for Loki to open his eyes, he stood, groaning. He cleaned out the taste of vomit from his mouth with water and stumbled out of the bathroom.

He was so tired, he belatedly realized. Tired and hungry and _god_ he wanted Advil.

He wondered if he could take it all back and go home. It wasn't too late, right?

Using the walls as a guide once more, Loki continued to walk away from the party, not wanting to go back into the hellhole of music and lights. He didn't know where he was going, honestly. Stark's place was big when viewed from the outside, but the inside seemed impossibly huge, a labyrinth of hallways and doors.

He found a staircase, and resolutely decided to follow it to the top. At least he wouldn't have any problems finding his way back.

When he got to the top floor, he all but collapsed onto the first door, weary and so pathetically _drunk_. He fumbled to turn the knob to open it.

Loki was _very_ pleased with what greeted him: an empty bedroom with a big, big bed, all for him.

He thew himself upon the very big, very _expensive_ looking bed, and made himself a nest among the red and gold pillows. His head ached, his stomach ached… practically everywhere ached. God, the prospect of sleep called to him, like a hot press for sore body.

He answered.

Tony Stark had to admit: he was surprised when, at three am, he staggered into his room to find a boy already drunkenly passed out on his bed.

It wouldn't have been the first time, quite honestly. But usually, it was a girl. Or three.

And they usually looked over the age of sixteen.

Tony, upon this sight, merely sighed and ordered JARVIS to turn the lights down to ten percent. Let the drunken boy sleep, he'd figured. Lord knew how many times Tony had been in that very position and treated unfavorably.

With nothing else to do, he had settled in his comfortable swivel chair, pulled out his tablet, and lost himself in blueprints and plans.

Tony had practically forgotten the boy was there within ten minutes. It took a pained groan from him an hour later for the billionaire to even remember he existed.

"Woah there, kiddo. Don't strain yourself," Tony said, once noticing the stranger try to sit up. His face was screwed up in pain – surely he had a terrible hangover.

Still, he managed to sit up just fine on his own, and once that little struggle was completed, he turned and looked at Tony.

His eyes widened almost immediately

"T-time," the boy rasped. He looked scared. Frightened. Tony would've laughed in different circumstances.

"_The time is four thirteen in the morning, sir_," came JARVIS' ever cheerful and disembodied voice. That only further served to freak the kid out.

"Relax," said Tony. "That's just JARVIS. Electronic butler and shit. He won't hurt ya."

Whether at his words or something else, the boy's shoulders did lose some of their tension, and he at least didn't look like he was going to have a heart attack. Tony finally stood and made his way over to the bed, grabbing a water bottle and handing it to the kid. "Name's Tony Stark." As if he didn't already know.

"Loki," came the response after chugging half the bottle. Tony couldn't help an amused smile.

"Like the god?" he wondered aloud. The boy – Loki – merely shrugged. His fingers (long, like a pianist's, Tony realized) tapped against the bottle. He seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "I'm sorry for imposing, and you have my thanks, but I really must be getting back – "

"Why?" Tony interrupted. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he felt the need to let him stay. It wasn't _that_ different than when he found girls passed out on his bed. He'd send them home after a kiss goodbye.

So why Loki?

In the end, Tony chalked it up to him just being an interesting anomaly. It wasn't every day he found a boy passed out on his bed.

"Stay for a little longer, eh? At least until your hangover is manageable." Maybe he'd manage to make it easier on the kid.

"No, thank you," said Loki, shaking his head.

"Then tell me where you live. At least let me drive you home." Tony wasn't about to let him walk or take the subway home, not at this hour, and definitely not nursing a hangover.

"I, uh…" Loki shifted in the bed, clearing his throat. "I'm actually your neighbor. I'm the house to the right."

Tony's eyes widened, his jaw falling open. "Holy shit. Seriously?" When Loki gave a nod, he ran a hand through his hair, musing it up further. "For how long?"

Another shrug. "Four months, give or take."

_Damn,_ Tony thought. _I really need to get to know my neighbors._

"I really, _really_ should get going now, Mr. Stark." Sometime during their conversation Loki had set the bottle down and stood up. "Thank you." He started for the door, but, on impulse, Tony's hand reached out and grabbed a thin wrist. Loki tensed and turned around, though his face betrayed nothing.

"Hey, stay safe, alright?" There was a tiny frown on Tony's face. He could feel it. "Drink lots'a water and get plenty of rest when you get home."

The muscles in Loki's jaw tensed and relaxed. "Yes, sir," he said, pulling his wrist almost forcefully from Tony's grasp.

Then he was gone, soft footsteps padding down the stairwell.

Sighing, Tony fell back on his bed, finally letting his migraine make itself known. Damn it. Damn parties and damn Loki and damn…everything, really.

"JARVIS," he started, crawling under the covers. There was a scent that was most _definitely_ not his on the pillows. It smelled like mint and spice. "Cancel all plans for today."

"_As you wish, sir._"

Tony was still trying to figure out if he liked how Loki smelled when he fell asleep.

By some stroke of luck, Loki managed to sneak back into his house without anyone noticing. He had been so scared when he first woke up in Stark's home, wondering why he wasn't in his own bed, why it smelled like expensive cologne and Febreeze. When he realized why, he immediately went into overdrive, his head becoming noisy again.

_What if father finds out? What time is it? How long have I been gone?_

Thankfully, it was still early, and by the time he'd crept back inside his house he still had an hour before his father even _thought_ about getting up.

All in all, the night hadn't been so bad, even _if _ he had a killer headache and his mouth felt like cotton.

Light was beginning to seep over the horizon line by the time he'd crawled back into his bed. He took a bottle of water and a couple painkillers with him, though was careful to hide any traces that he'd ever been out. He tucked himself into bed, contenting himself with the fact that tomorrow was a Sunday and he could sleep off his hangover.

Hopefully.

Like his usual routine, Loki stretched, popped his knuckles, and slipped into his dream world. In many ways he used it to remember things, like math formulas and the poems he had to memorize in middle school. It was nice, though, just to imagine himself wandering his kingdom, making sure everything was where it should be, that everyone was behaving.

Before sleep took him, Loki caught the sight of a man with a red and gold cape and a stunning smile.


End file.
